


Calm Down the Sea

by yet_another_cloud



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_another_cloud/pseuds/yet_another_cloud
Summary: What if they had their chance to have thatdrink?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I must admit it started as a true guilty pleasure. In fact, I was in the middle of writing a fully canon-complying fic about these two, when an alternative ending of the hospital scene had simply popped up in my head, and at once I found out it settled down there and hadn't an intention to leave, so at last, I had no choice but to, err, _write it down_ :)  
>  And then it overgrew with details, mostly agnst, as occurred, but I hope they'll finally have their chance, and so do we. 
> 
> An opening quotation is Auden, of course.

  
_Lay your sleeping head, my love,_  
_Human on my faithless arm;_  
_Time and fevers burn away_  
_Individual beauty from_  
_Thoughtful children, and the grave_  
_Proves the child ephemeral:_  
_But in my arms till break of day_  
_Let the living creature lie,_  
_Mortal, guilty, but to me_  
_The entirely beautiful._  


 

Dakin reached up the entrance grasping a paper-wrapped bottle of wine in his hands. Shit, he didn’t expect to be so on edge with this. On the way there he encouraged himself recalling their meeting at the hospital several days before.

 

…It was on his second frantic attempt when they finally let him in. Irwin looked horribly; his haggard, tired face was white as sheet, accented with dark circle shades; only his freckles and pale-blue eyes seemed even brighter. It was so odd to see a familiar face without glasses – as if there were no distance, no barriers left; Dakin’s stomach lurched from both an intimacy of that look and a thought that he saw him the way no one else did. Without that shield of lenses, Irwin looked young – even younger than usual - and somewhat uncertain, and terribly fragile. 

‘Hi! How are you?’ – Dakin swiftly crossed the room and flopped down to the chair, moving it closer to Irwin’s bed, -‘We all worried terribly,’ – and, damning coward, couldn’t he say it the way he intended to from the beginning? – ‘ ** _I_** worried deadly about you.’ 

‘Not bad. I’m glad you came, ‘– Irwin’s smile shone broadly. He meant it, really, obviously.

‘How did it happen?’ – Dakin blurred before giving a second thought to his question.

When Irwin said he couldn’t recall the crash, it was like a punch. It was so obviously painful for Irwin, and the way he didn’t ( _couldn’t? or didn’t intentionally?_ ) hide this pain struck Dakin a lot. Irwin was vulnerable, and that was an off-balancing thing; that, and his plastered leg, of which he didn’t know how to ask about, and wasn’t sure he could bear an answer. _Say he knows he could never walk normally again; would he tell me? And what on Earth should I say in response?_

Dakin was glad when the subject turned to school; it was his familiar territory, and while talking about other’s reaction, if sad, to Hector’s death, he could collect his own shell of confidence and bravado back; not for a long time, as happened. Irwin was settled half-sat in his place, and his pale hand rested on the blanket along the edge of the bed, so near to Dakin’s reaching. It was distracting, to be so hyperaware of it all the way through. 

 

‘Do you remember it was me whom Hector was going to lift before Felix attacked us as a riding Valkyrie? You sort of saved my life so far. Am I now supposed to serve you faithfully till my death?’ – Dakin teased. 

‘No. I don’t want you to serve me,’ – Irwin responded seriously, and there was that open, straightforward, off-guard and disarming look on his face which for a second made Dakin forgot how to breathe.

‘No? And what do you want me to do instead?’

‘I thought you know the answer,’ – the words aired quietly, almost in a whisper, but they forced Dakin to go on headlong. He leaned forward and covered Irwin’s hand with his own. 

‘Is it still on the table, our Sunday afternoon? I mean, not this Sunday perhaps, but – ‘

Irwin nodded, looking straight into his eyes. 

‘I think it is.’

They leaned even closer; their mixed breaths brushing each other’s cheeks. Irwin’s hand shifted under his, opening palm to palm, fingers squeezed Dakin’s fingers, and that was, really, like a short circuit. 

 

A noise outside the door broke them apart, leaving the moment an inch but happened. 

When the steps and voices passed away and silenced, Dakin looked up with a wry laugh – ‘No one is really interested.’

‘Shouldn’t do it here, anyway, ‘- Irwin blushed, of course, but he shared that smile with him; that was priceless. 

And then he gave him a piece of paper on which he scribbled something in a rush – a familiar handwriting Dakin had reread several times since then; an address and phone number, followed by his name. _Tom_. He’s not _‘Mr Irwin, sir’_ to him anymore. 

Before he left, Dakin leaned forward once more and lowered his voice – ‘You know, now I’ve seen you without your glasses, but it doesn’t count.’ He was really, really fond of how it made Irwin blush again. 

 

Dakin looked around and then combed his hair with the help of reflection at the door’s glass, breathed deeply and finally buzzed. 

While still too pale and haggard, now Irwin looked significantly better. He was wearing jeans and a denim shirt with two first buttons opened, and it seemed like its deep colour reflected in his eyes whose were bright and merely shining. 

‘Hi! Come in’, - Irvin nodded with a warm smile and went inside, not quite ungraceful even on his crutches. Dakin followed him taking some glances around. The space was not large but cosy in some way, Dakin liked its stylish austerity. Bookshelves, and yet more bookshelves here and there, a desk littered with papers, an armchair accompanied by an elegant floor lamp, a sofa and a player with several boxes of records. 

In the kitchen, Irvin leaned his crutches toward a wall. In that tiny space, he didn’t need them, settling at the edge of the table and easily reaching any spot he needed. Again, all around looked neat and comfortable, and gosh, there’s something definitely home-maid smelling deliciously from the oven. 

‘You’re managing well!’

Irwin smirked – ‘I try to’. He glanced at the bottle while opening it and raised his eyebrow.

‘You might consider something not that posh next time’, - he remarked with an ironic smile, pouring two glasses and passing one to Dakin.

 _Next time!_ Look at this man; he’s quick off the mark. 

‘I’ll note it to my diary, for the next time,’ – Dakin teased in response, remembering that first time they made an appointment that went so awry - shit, might it happen not a fortnight before? – a light-year from now, as it was. 

The wine was good, as long as it calmed his nerves down a bit, and this was all he could say out of it. 

‘Ah, sod off,’ – Irwin chuckled, but with a look that made Dakin feel he scored a point right now. - ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Not much. And you?’

‘Definitely not to an extent to do it first, ‘– and well, it seemed like they left all the preliminaries behind. Of all things on Earth, that was an invitation, and Dakin was not the one to miss it; he hastily finished the wine, covered the distance with two steps and pressed his lips to Irwin’s; and Irwin answered the kiss with no hesitance. 

 

This time, it had nothing to Poland. Something has changed significantly since he first mentioned a drink in the classroom. Was it a crash or anything else, Dakin didn’t know. But there were Irwin’s hands pulling Dakin’s leather jacket off his shoulders, slipping under his t-shirt, touching him eagerly. Dakin’s stomach lurched hot, any part of his body an aching urge to do the same in response, an urge so strong that his swift fingers seemed to him being fumbled for ages with bloody buttons on Irwin’s chest, before at last he could reach and touch and grope Irwin’s pale tender skin, forcing a sharp breath out of him, a kind of ‘finally’ for them both. 

They settled down just there in the kitchen; Irwin still leaned back half-sitting upon the table, Dakin snuggled tightly right in front of him, - perhaps not the most comfortable position, Dakin thought, but at the moment no one was willing to move anywhere from here; they were way too busy to waste any moment on that. Irwin’s plastered leg was some awkward mess of quiet laughs as they fussed with clothes around it, but it wasn’t any embarrassing or humiliating Dakin was afraid it’d be. When they ended up having nothing, not a thin barrier, between them, Irwin broke up for a moment and – 

…And took his glasses off, recklessly tossing them somewhere on the table behind him. Dakin couldn’t help but grin all over his face, for it instantly filled him up with an unabashed triumph. He did it; at last, they reached that kind of the point of no return. 

 

It was almost nothing similar to how it used to be with Fiona; or to what he experienced before, during his other more or less successful conquests; for at first, it occurred to be not likely a conquest at all. Suddenly there’re no advances and counterattacks, no showing off, no seducing, if it comes to that. All his reasons faded out off his mind as far as he fell strangely safe and _approved_ for all he’s doing right there, right then. Approved to follow his utmost desire, to do exactly what he wanted to do with no second-thought on it. It was unfamiliar but seemed completely _right_ ; though he quickly discovered it got him way more deeply. 

And in several minutes, there’s yet no space left in him for observing and considering too, not even for concerning how Irwin got what he’s doing to him; though Dakin partly knew he must’ve been okay, from how his body’s trembling under Dakin’s touches, from his gasps and moans and the way he swore under the breath with his head up and eyes shut. It was okay to do whatever he wanted to do to him. It was even okay to finally groan whatever has to let out from his own mouth pressed into Irwin’s shoulder, shuddering and shaking in his arms. 

 

They ended up moving to the bedroom, if a little late, for no one wanted to get it over at that. A sight of Irwin, naked ( _almost_ , - in fact, wearing just his shirt opened out, as they never bothered to unbutton its sleeves, - but still _no glasses_ ), walking on his crutches, was a bit of ridiculous laugh for them both; but as he finally pushed himself back on the bed, he let out a groan of long-awaited relief. His leg must’ve been hurt pretty bad, Dakin realized suddenly and tried to comfort him with a cushion. 

‘Oh leave it please, I’m not a disabled!’ – Irvin said with an amused grin. Dakin was glad that Irwin’s mood on the matter has changed to that sort of swagger irony – at least it was something he knew how to deal with. And, frankly, the way he looked in that bloody shirt made Dakin swoon like a fangirl. He felt hot and hard again – Christ, not ten minutes after! couldn’t it be not so _boyish_ of him? – he found himself in need of a red herring.

‘No? I thought it’s how they called it, your current state.’

‘Like fuck it is! I’m not.’

‘I’m sorry, _sir_ , maybe it’s hard for me to judge properly, but – ‘

‘Don’t _‘sir’_ to me! And you know how your current state is called,’ – Irwin stated smiling provokingly, starring just right where Dakin didn’t want him to. 

Shit. Obviously, there was no chance Irwin wouldn’t get aware what is it all for. 

‘Touché.’ Dakin suspected it was his turn to blush.

‘Come on, come here,’ – Irwin said quietly, tapping upon the place on the bed just near his head, his eyes now all tenderness and teasing. He stretched his hand and caressed Dakin’s thigh above the knee, the tips of his fingers touching there so lightly, forcing another hot wave to wash upon Dakin’s body – ‘Don’t be a tosh, just come on’.

And then again, a moment of embarrassment fleeted away, leaving Dakin feeling perfectly right moving closer, exposing himself toward Irwin’s incredibly skilled and swift and subtle hands and mouth, feeling so open, and just secure, and oh so fucking good. For the first time in his life, Dakin considered that when it comes to sex, being a younger one might bring some advantages too. 

 

It was odd and amusing how they seemed left all the social ties behind the slamming door; they were obviously no master and pupil anymore, neither a provoker and the one being seduced, nor _‘upper’_ and _‘lower’_ at last (fuck the clichéd mind, it’s not near like this, Dakin thought). In the middle of their incredible nowhere they seemed to act as much as two equals as they could; though one of them was obviously mature and knowing what he’s doing, sharing his confidence carefully and generously, while the other’s bold enough to get it all in the right way.

 

‘You really want it?’

‘I’d wanna try. It’s intriguing. Why not?’ – He looked into Irwin’s face with genuine curiosity. –‘Is it always painful for the first time?’

‘Um… In fact, you never know before you try.’

‘Was it painful to you?’

‘Not at all, ‘- Irwin smiled shyly. – ‘Yet it was not my achievement, I suppose.’

‘Might be yours now,’ – a teasing yet confidential tone, he knows for sure how it works.

‘We may try and see. Look, there will be no rush. And it’s no harm to stop at any time if you feel it goes wrong. Just don’t be shy to say, okay?’

‘God, do you hear yourself? It sounds like a fucking safety manual,’ – Dakin’s patronizing, almost pitying look was softened by the warm laugh and tender voice. – ‘Don’t take it so seriously, I’m not made of glass. And, you know, I never got shy…’ - 

_‘…with you’_ , he was about to end with but bit it back before it had slipped out of his mouth. Because, for the first, it wasn’t completely true. And then… well, the first is quite enough. 

‘How could I forget?’ – Irwin rolled his eyes and laughed. 

And his hand was caressing and careful, indeed, finding its way unhurriedly and gently, making rather an odd but not unpleasant sensation, deepening, stretching and pressing bit by bit, one finger after another; and froze at the first sharp noise Dakin made. 

‘Want to stop?’

‘No… just… wait a bit,’ – Dakin’s whisper was coarse and short.

‘Shhhh… it’s okay… relax… You’ll get used to it soon. It’s just unfamiliar - ’

‘Yeah… I know… Go on now.’

‘Sure?’

‘Like fuck. Go on.’

‘You’re learning fast.’

‘Like always.’ 

They smiled and moved on starring into each other’s eyes, and now Irwin’s fingers definitely knew their way, and knew some tricks, some secret spots all along it; so in several very unusual minutes Dakin was arching and gasping in their maddening rhythm, - ‘It’s rather… good…’ – ‘You’ll see,’ – Irwin murmured in a low satisfied voice. 

And yes, by now he had seen yet. He was almost overwhelmed with a sensation, a sort of pain and a razor-sharp pleasure like nothing he’d ever experienced before; he had to bite his chuckles just to not shout out; of course Irwin noticed it and teased him, the bastard, stroking them both in turn with his other hand in that bloody manner, breathing unevenly into Dakin’s ear – ‘Say it…Say it… Don’t bite… Say it loud,..’ – so in the end he did, threw his palm away from his mouth, squeezed sheets in his fist, swore like hell. He was amused by how pleased Irwin looked at that moment, the way he shuddered on the noises, the way it forced him to get to his finish too. 

‘Shit… It was… great,’ – Dakin tried to steady his breath.

‘Yeah… You’re brilliant’, - Irwin smiled at him with such an unfamiliar expression; a smile of admire, approve, even pride perhaps, and gratefulness at the same time, - that filled Dakin’s heart with warmth almost despite his will.

‘We both are’, - he returned, and won a laugh. 

 

‘You know,‘– Dakin let out a little smoke cloud and watched how it faded gradually on its way up, – ‘when I knew about Hector, and you – I... I was scared as shit. Not as shocked, not as upset – but scared most of all. Am I a total wuss?’

‘No, ‘– Irwin rose himself on his elbow looking straight into Dakin’s eyes, seriously, intently. – ‘It’s okay. It’s normal – to be scared of death.’- Irwin’s features stiffened for a tiny second and Dakin could trace a little muscle twitched on his neck; then he placed his hand upon Dakin’s forearm, adding a bit coarsely – ‘I was bloody scared too.’

‘You were injured,’ – Dakin retorted hastily and bitterly. - ‘That’s different. You were there when Hector died. And I was just - an onlooker.’  
'No matter, ‘- Irvin shook his head and then reached out and graciously grabbed a fag out of Dakin’s fingers. Dakin couldn’t help with how much he’s fond of that newly-acquired habit of Irwin, to share a smoke with him. – ‘An imagination could make a perfect, deadly effective, tailor-made hell for anyone who just has it.’ – Now he looked at Dakin with a touch of tender irony in his eyes. – ‘Even for you.’

‘Am I not a special case exception?’ – Dakin demanded mockingly, somehow feeling easier with that acceptant warm radiated by Irvin’s look.

‘In this aspect – no,’ – Irvin assured him with another banter smile.

‘Are you telling me there’re other aspects where I really am?’

Irvin laughed. –‘What makes me think that it’s a loaded question?’ – And he leaned in, in order just to kiss off that smug expression of Dakin’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

And he was right, that Irwin, as always: there really _was_ next time, and a time after that, and one another, before Dakin headed up to his new edges in Oxford, when that _something_ , whatever it was between them, was postponed, yet never completely archived – until his visits home, as it appeared. It still had its place in his life, that something Dakin never bothered to find a proper name to, and had the power to drag him through the hated awkwardness of phone calls, with permanent back-thought of _just being polite to call to an ex-teacher_ , just in case, - to the continuous reliefs of Irwin’s _‘come for a dinner then’_. They met on his autumn pass-over, and once on Christmas holidays, and once in spring. 

Not counting that crazy weekend in the midst of Hilary term he preferred not to recall, when sudden panic about amount of books he has to read, ideas and theories to absorb, about his works and essays still undone grew to such extent that it forced him to skip all his plans in favor of an impromptu escape to Sheffield. Irwin must have been smart enough to read him through. He started to ask about his learning over dinner, and, partly to his own surprise, Stu realized he actually didn’t want to fog the truth. So, one step after another, they ended up spending the remaining of an evening scrambling through piles of Dakin’s notes and tattered dog-eared books. Irwin’s questions and comments were sharp and ingenious as ever – wasn’t it what he missed of him most of all since their lessons had gone? – but Dakin found it even more pleasant to have him playing on the same side. 

 

And not counting that evening in late May, the only time he came without a call.

‘Stuart? What are you – hey, what happened?’

Dakin stayed there leaned against the door frame, strangely stiffened, looking anywhere but to Irwin’s face; and his voice was muffled. 

‘My father died. Yesterday. Tomorrow is the funeral. Can I stay here for a couple of hours?’

‘God. I’m so sorry. Come in.’ 

Tom hugged him as he stepped in and felt his whole frame is tightened like a coiled spring. Without speaking he brought up a bottle of whiskey and two glasses as they settled down on the sofa.

‘To your dad’. 

Stuart nodded and made a large sip.

‘Never thought you’ve got whiskey here.’

‘Of course I have. Though I’m not a big fan of it, so, it’s just for a case – ‘

‘A case like this?’

‘How did it happen?’

‘Heart attack. He was fifty-two. No one expected.’

‘Fuck.’

Looking at Dakin’s worn face and trembling fingers he couldn’t stop himself from asking – ‘When did you eat or sleep last time?’

‘You’re like my mum, ‘– Stu cut gloomily. – ‘I can’t. No, really, I just don’t want to, ‘– he added hastily as Tom started to move toward the kitchen. – ‘Please don’t.’

No wonder they got fairly drunk in half an hour, keeping a sporadic talk interfered with long pauses. Irwin’s heart was dying with empathy; he would do anything to distract Dakin from his dark closeness, if only for a moment, only he didn’t know how to do that. 

‘Tell me about him, ‘– he asked softly. It might help, he thought. 

‘I can’t, ‘– Dakin shook his head with sudden fierceness, his voice broken in the middle of a short phrase. – ‘They all sit there and tell the stories about him all day long, _share their fucking memories_ , as if they collected them through all his life, specially for this case! As if they somehow learned how to behave. How could – ‘– he cut himself with a shaky sigh. – ‘I was so mad at them all. At mum. Even at _him_. Don’t know why. Just - couldn’t bear it anymore. ‘

‘That’s why you’re here. ‘ 

‘Yeah…’ – Dakin nodded gazing at the carpet under his shoes. – ‘Had you ever got mad with no reason?’ 

‘No rational reason you mean? Of course I had. Like anyone.’

Stuart looked at him a bit distrustfully. 

‘Never seen you in bad temper.’

‘It’s better not to show it having a gang of savages around, ’- Irwin chuckled throwing a fag out of the box and Dakin snorted in response:

‘It figures, ‘– and, as a new idea crossed his mind, - ‘Had you ever been mad at me?’

Irwin chuckled again.

‘When?’ – For his own sake, now Dakin looked pretty keen. 

‘Well, when you started to make your elephant-grace advances on me.’

‘There were the days!’ – A Cheshire-cat-like smile on Stuart’s face was almost dreamy. 

‘Not like I wasn’t prepared for that.’

‘Were you?’ – Dakin teased and Irwin rolled his eyes – 

‘Any teacher knows it happens from time to time.’

‘Why angry then? ‘– Dakin leaned in, looking at him with all curiosity of young explorer. – ‘Because you couldn’t answer the way you wanted?’

Irwin rubbed his nose bridge under the glasses. The conversation took a hard turn for him. Yet he liked it, as he always liked their continuous teasing and provoking each other, their sudden flickers of openness, their say-it-aloud game – all that things about revealing the pieces of truth about themselves, the pieces that lay abandoned in the dark so far, unseen, or even unknown. He paced the room while carefully picking the words. 

‘Because I _wanted to answer_. Because what I wasn’t prepared for was that I might feel the way I oughtn’t to. And you bugger knew it pretty well, and still pushed on me.’

Dakin’s selfish expression was a sort of _‘and where would we be now if I didn’t?’_

‘But you were pleased, you liar.’

‘No, ‘– Tom stressed, - ‘ _Not pleased._ It – it drove me, ‘– he dropped his eyes, feeling he must be desperately fucking blushed again – ‘but it drove me frantically mad too. You’re always mixed feelings.’

Blushed, open, turned on – God, how much Dakin liked him that way. He rose up from the sofa, pressed his whole body to Irwin’s slender figure and breathed into his ear – ‘Fuck me. Not the way you did - take me hard, fuck me as hard as you want.’ 

If ever Irwin needed a proof for his own last statement, here it was, ten of ten. He bit his lip struggling to cope with what’s steering inside him. He knew it’d work - _might_ work, at least, for Dakin, to fight fire with fire. In fact, of all their inventive, passionate, heavenly good sex, they still never reverted to that only experience Dakin insisted on for the first time; and Tom knew he would never be the first to bring that subject up. Now he had his utmost, dirtiest, half-conscious desire shamelessly spoken aloud, offered, almost begged for – but if _that_ isn’t an abuse of Stuart’s occasional weakness, then what on Earth is?

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ – he retorted softly. But, of course, Dakin wasn’t going to be satisfied with such a refusal.

‘Look, I don’t care! Even if it’ll hurt, then what? I want it. Would it stop _you_ if you know I might hurt you?’

It hit some point. Voiceless, his eyes fixed on Dakin’s face, Tom shook his head no. 

That’s it. Shit, he must’ve been known it earlier. 

‘Will you let me fuck you too?’- Stuart whispered looking intently into Tom’s widened eyes.

Their hard, hitched breaths were the only sounds in the room. Tom nodded. And, as if he got his voice back, added coarsely – ‘God, yes. I want it.’ 

‘I will. But you do it first.’- And, as Stu got even closer, as he rubbed his back with an eager hand, putting another one deliberately upon his crotch, pressing it tightly to his hardness, he whispered into Irwin’s neck – ‘Tommy. Please.’

Irwin shut his eyes. Dirty play, as it was. Of course they were supposed to be on personals; he got used to calling him Stuart, though he had actually heard ‘Tom’ in response only once when they sort of tasted their names to speak out to each other. He used to think Stuart felt awkward to call him by name. But _Tommy_ took him completely by surprise, indeed. 

‘You bastard’, - he whispered between two rushed kisses but as they started to move toward the bedroom, Dakin knew he had won. 

 

That must’ve been stacked in both their memories as a series of flashes, as bright as irreal.

The way Irwin took the lead, and pulled Stu’s clothes off, his hands assertive and demanding, and turned him around, and pushed weightily upon his spine forcing him to bent forward, and grappled his butts oh so firmly, and entered into him, slowly for the first time, but it still made Stu shut his eyes and breathe and breathe before ordering coarsely – ‘Harder.’ 

And the way he felt Tom’s hardness inside him, and sensed every little twitch of his desire and passion, literally - physically - with all his body – and how it was _different_ to all they’ve done before. (Later he remembered that sensation while being in the opposite position and for a second was merely frightened with the thought that Tom now is learning all the same about him.) 

 

…And the moment when Stuart finally gave in and caught the rhythm arching back toward Tom’s moves, and his short breathy moans, whose were pleading, and soft complaint, and lusting, and begging for more, all in one.  
And how he stopped Tom on the edge so close to his highest point, clenching his wrist firmly, and breathed - ‘Your turn now,’ - and moved them to the bed where they fell, and laughed quietly shaking his head – ‘I wanna see you’, and then, just into his ear – ‘Say you want it. Say you want me to do it.’ – and he did, of course. 

Tom knew that no one in his sane took it seriously, drunken words said during sex, all that nonsense – and still he also knew that it never could be completely discarded or abandoned, that incoherent music of possession and surrender that sounded tonight between two of them. _So what_ , he thought, evening his breath at last, _so fucking what_. Once in a while, it was beautiful, to let himself go that way. 

In fact, at the moment he had one and only reason to worry about; the reason more important than this. He watched Dakin thoroughly, looking for sights of regret, or disappointment, or disgust, and found none. Stuart looked relaxed, content, and that was hopeful. 

‘How do you feel?’ – Tom asked finally, softly, carefully.

Stu stretched himself, smiling - ‘The best thing I did in months.’

‘What part of it, exactly?’ – The question was asked in a thoroughly measured light tone. 

Dakin chuckled and gave Irwin an astute look. For Tom’s sake, his eyes were closed and the face kept calm and relaxed expression.  
‘Both,’ – Dakin let out and was rewarded with a rare pleasure to observe content smile creeping into corners of Tom’s incredibly beautiful mouth. 

 

It was really great that at Tom’s place they could smoke in bed. Stu rolled over to reach and pick up his own box from the floor - and hissed with a grimace of pain. 

‘Hey. Does it hurt?’

He winced again - ‘Sores. A bit.’

Irwin leant over to reach a bedside drawer – ‘Look, I’ve got a liniment – ‘

Stu’s whole form hardened – ‘I’m fine.’

Tom returned with a smile on his face and said softly – ‘Don’t be a fool. You can’t sit normally tomorrow. Just let me – ‘ 

God knows why, Tom wasn’t a bit embarrassed, but all tender; and for a moment that new kind of closeness grew almost unbearable. Stu obeyed - with rolled eyes and eloquent sigh – for the only reason that it won him a benefit of turning away and keeping silent. 

 

A pain subsided almost instantly, really, but his stirred emotions didn’t. 

Was it that simple fondling care that opened the gate, or perhaps he’s just tired to the edge of giving up, but it seemed like all the sorrow that somehow was being kept outside Dakin’s heart so far, finally found its way in. First, he was lying still, just letting tears pass down his face, biting bruised lips and trying hard to breathe normally; but even that became impossible to keep on soon, so he rolled over to his belly, pressing his face into the pillow, burying his sobs in it.  
He didn’t cry in front of anyone since he was nine. But Irwin was not _anyone_ , and he knew his own way of handling it. He didn’t say a word, almost didn’t move; only tightened his grip upon Dakin’s shaking shoulders and put the other hand upon his nape. They laid still that way for quite long, until the storm had gone, and Stuart’s breath finally evened as he drifted to a welcoming yet not steady sleep. 

 

A bleak yellowish dawn was already working its way through the clouded sky, and once its first shaft crept into the room, it caught Tom Irwin lying awakened, relishing this calm and serene moment with Stuart sleeping in his embrace. Thank God he needed not much sleep himself, for he didn’t want to miss a bit of it.  
Stuart won’t return anymore, Irwin thought. They came too close to – what? How should he call it – _relations_? He breathed. To love. Whom he is fooling now, they came too close to love. 

But even speaking of relations, these were surely not the terms Stuart came here on. He knew it from the very beginning; he had no delusions about this. At last, of the two of them, he was not the one who’s eighteen. 

Still he didn’t regret any little bit of what they’ve done. That’s the natural order of things, he thought. There are inner laws in any development. Both history and story comply with them in their unfolding. Something new and beautiful is first born deep under the surface; it rises, grows slowly, strengthens its power, until once it bursts into life under good opportunity or someone’s deliberate action; then it blooms, and shines in all its glory, changing the world, altering everything around; and then, just because of it, one day its time comes to an end. As a matter of fact, he never at any moment wanted to slow it down, to freeze it just in order to prevent it from future fading. He knew it wouldn’t do with living things. 

 

It was very early in the morning when Dakin woke up with a sudden twist. ‘Oh fuck,’ – he groaned pressing both palms to his wrinkled face - pale, fatigued, traced with grief, yet still more vivid than yesterday night – and the whole picture was so quintessentially Dakin’s that Irwin couldn’t keep himself from smile. 

‘I need to go,’ – Stuart stated gathering his clothes from where they threw them at night. – ‘Would you mind I take a shower?’

‘Don’t be silly. Here you are,’ – Tom gave him a fresh towel. 

 

‘Coffee?’ – Tom asked, yet offering a steaming mug and a plate of toasts. 

‘Great. Thanks,’ – Dakin plopped down onto a chair and winced instantly, - ‘Oh shit.’

They shared a knowing look as he gingerly settled himself down.

‘Want a pill?’ 

‘No. I prefer to take all consequences on myself,’ – Dakin’s tone was playful as was the smile, but eyes look serious as if they added something more, and was it only Irwin’s fantasy to know that what was really meant was _‘I want my body to keep feeling of what we’ve done a bit longer’_? Tom swallowed, trying to get rid of a sudden lump in his throat.

‘Do you want a lift?’ – they both smiled, if a bit awkwardly, at how it quickly reminded them of Hector, - though Irwin now had a car, not bike of course, as his limp still prevented him from cycling or walking much. 

‘No, thanks, I’d rather walk. Need to see Scripps first. Better to tell him I was at his place tonight, ‘ – Dakin’s wry cat expression faded as he saw Tom’s worried and embarrassed face. He moved closer trying to catch Tom’s look. – ‘Look, no one else knows. And Scripps would never gossip, it’s non-Christian for him,’ – he chuckled – ‘there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ – Irwin muttered but refused to explain despite his questioning look, - ‘Never mind.’

 

That vulnerable, uncertain, pained look that glimpsed over Stuart’s face when he was just about to turn and head to the front door – that was what made Tom hold his breath. He stepped up toward Stuart, leaving no space to divide them, pressing himself tightly to his side, putting one hand upon his neck, Stuart’s face nuzzled up to his temple, silent. A few heartbeats, and they broke, Tom’s hand patted on Stu’s shoulder as a quiet ‘hold on’ before he slammed the door behind him. 

 

‘Scripps! Don! Psst,’ –throwing a pebble into the window finally forced sleepy face to look out of it. 

‘Hey, Srippsy, I need your help. Can I say I slept over at yours?’

‘Morning to you too. And you really were?’

Dakin, all of a sudden, looked aside. - ‘At Irwin’s.’

Scripps whistled. – ‘Not a thing your mum should know.’

‘That’s the point.’

‘Okay, ‘ – thank God his room is on the ground floor. Don leaned out of the window and stretched his hand – ‘Climb in, Romeo. Will say you came late and I opened the door myself, ’ – and, as Dakin still hesitated with a questioning expression on his face, - ‘My mum will talk to yours today, you dummy, we need a story.’

He was extremely lucky to have a mate like Scripps, Dakin thought as they giggled like teenagers after dragging him in, shaking off tumbleweeds of cobweb from his jeans. Scripps, who’s the only person he could think to call when he knew about dad; who simply said ‘I’m going with you’ and seemed to have his bag packed before the end of call; who would cover him saying nothing on this night demarche, no matter what he privately thought about it; and who’s calming presence was a little piece of normality he could steer on through all that unspeakably terrible day. 

 

It was not until they got their train back to Oxford when Scripps reverted to the question he kept in mind. 

‘Your thing with Irwin – is it _that_ serious?’

‘It isn’t a thing,’ - Dakin retorted testily.

‘What’s it then? Tell me it’s just an occasional sex on a lonely night?’

_Just sex._ Such a simple answer to end up with. But there’s always been one thing between him and Scripps, a cornerstone which made their friendship more deep and solid than usual schoolboy camaraderie used to be. One thing they never do: they never lie to each other. So as far as Dakin knew, it wasn’t an answer he could present to Scripps on the matter. 

He knew it has been in fact more than sex for quite a long while. Not love, save God us all, not even a crush – Dakin didn’t ever operate with such categories to quantify his own life – but… In fact, he felt like he was granted something about himself. 

From the very first time, he possessed something more solid than a secret knowledge of that Irwin wears jeans at home, swears like hell during sex, and hates pasta, as well as they both like Pink Floyd and U2. It was about discovering other edges, about feeling in a different way than usual. Calm yet excited – how could it be ever possible to feel both at the same time? Being younger _and_ acting as an equal. Being taken seriously but without any demands. Maybe it just didn’t fit into all these words. Or at least none of them he could use to describe it to Scripps. 

So Dakin just sighed looking mindlessly at the flickering outside landscape and said vaguely - ‘I don’t know.’

‘Or you don’t want to know.’ – That was the Sripps-iest thing Dakin likes in him so much, the sharpness of his clarifications, his conquest for a precise truth. ‘Journalism is more than a half made of right questions’, as Scripps stated once over the n-th beer. But at the time Dakin wasn’t in the mood to refuse or argue, so he accepted bluntly, - ‘Or perhaps I don’t want to know.’

‘At least I don’t want to think about it now, ‘– he added, shaking himself as if just awakened, and changed the subject.


End file.
